


Hold Me Without Touch

by orphan_account



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dom/sub, F/M, Hair-pulling, Mild Painplay, POV Alternating, Rope Bondage, Sexual Tension, Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 05:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19986625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mallory visits a Shibari studio in D.C. and runs into our favourite Republican.





	Hold Me Without Touch

**Author's Note:**

> I am not involved in the Shibari scene and apologize for any inaccuracies. The POV alternates throughout. 
> 
> The characters and plot of American Horror Story: Apocalypse belong to Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk. The characters and plot of House of Cards belong to Netflix. 
> 
> The title of this fic is from Sara Bareilles' "Gravity". 
> 
> Not beta read, all mistakes are my own.

Duncan’s been coming to Fore-and-Aft since it opened in D.C.

It’s a private establishment. A member only studio for people willing to pay for their discretion. The abandoned warehouse has been converted into something quite chic, with exposed brick walls and heavy oak beams running horizontal along the length of the lofted ceiling. Long sturdy ropes drop from the beams. Some ropes hold bamboo poles above the ground while others end in metal rings, offering multiple suspension points. For practical reasons, grey spongy mats cover most of the polished cement floors.

When Duncan’s in the studio he isn’t a Shepherd or his uncle’s stooge. He’s just a guy who likes ropes; a rigger. Nobody here is interested in his name or what he does for a living, they just want to know if he’s submissive or dominant and if he’s any good at tying knots. The simplicity is freeing.

Tonight, Duncan doesn’t have anything pre-arranged. He hadn’t expected to be back in the city until Thursday. As he looks around the studio, he notices that his usual partners are missing. It’s an inconvenience, but if he doesn’t find anyone he’s interested in playing with he’s content to watch the other couples.

Chris is already busy constructing an intricate web around his sub with the help of a metal frame. 

Duncan sits off to the side and unzips his duffle bag. He eyes the different lengths of braided rope and the emergency scissors he’d thrown in before leaving his apartment and finds himself drawn to the coils of red hemp he’d bought last week. He wants to see if the colour is as gorgeous against the skin as he’s imagined.

He wants to make someone fly tonight, he’s just not sure anyone fits the bill. There a few rope bunnies lounging by themselves along the opposite wall, but they’re notoriously picky about the knots their riggers use. As he moves his gaze to the right side of the large space, Duncan notices two other women sitting together. The blonde one, a St. Pierre Vanderbilt if he’s not mistaken, is petting the head of the brunette that’s sprawled across her lap like a lazy cat. He waits a beat, making sure no one’s about to approach them with their own offer, before standing and making his way over to their side of the gym.

Duncan meets Cora’s—Coco’s?—eyes as he comes to a stop in front of them. “Hey, I’m Duncan. Are either of you ladies looking for a rigger tonight?” he asks, flashing them the billion-dollar Shepherd smile.

The Vanderbilt girl grins. “No, not me. But Mallory here has been complaining about the lackluster rope buffs at her studio in New Orleans. Do you think you could show her a good time?”

The brunette, Mallory, turns her head toward Duncan and blinks up at him with sleepy brown eyes. Duncan cocks his head, enjoying the way that her eyes strain to stay focused on his face. “I’m willing to give it a try if you are?” he says to her, voice deliberately friendly. 

Mallory narrows her eyes at the man that looms over her. He’s uncommonly handsome beneath his layer of blond scruff. On any other night, she might have felt embarrassed by her position across Coco’s lap. Right now, she’s mostly feeling annoyed that he’s interrupted her head rubs. When she's in a submissive mood she’s an absolute slut for affection.

“Are you new to the scene?” Mallory asks, dropping her eyes to where Duncan's hands tap against the fabric of his black track pants. She can’t see any calluses from her place on the floor, but his nails look manicured. _Not someone who works with his hands then_.

“I’ve been coming here for years,” Duncan replies. “I’ve never received any complaints.” He seems displeased that she would question his skill. He must be used to getting his way. Mallory doesn’t rise to the challenge in his tone. “It’s nothing personal, I just need to know the risk of being dropped on my head,” she explains patiently.

She pushes up into a seated position in front of him and points to the star shaped scar on the right side of her forehead. “When you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you acquire a few battle scars.” Some of the ice in Duncan's eyes retreats at her words. “I ended up with stitches the last time I partnered with someone I didn’t know.”

Mallory's fucking with him. She took a baseball to the face in fifth grade.

Duncan’s taken aback by her rebuke. He’s just opening his mouth to apologize when he sees the glint of amusement in her eyes. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?” he asks. Mallory's husky laughter has heat curling in his gut. He grins wryly. “I usually work with the same two partners. If you’d be more comfortable, we could stick to ground work.” Duncan suppresses a flash of disappointment at his offer. He can practice his suspension forms another night.

The politely resigned tone of his voice has Mallory speaking before she makes a conscious decision to. “No, it’s ok. I’d like to see what you can do," she murmurs.

Another charming smile brightens Duncan's face at her words. Mallory blinks, slightly dazed, and watches him lift a hand to boldly run a thumb over her scar. She feels a slight callus on the pad as it rubs over her skin. Duncan's tone is quiet when he speaks. “Alright, follow me then. I’m just over here.” He makes it three strides away before stopping and shooting a look over his shoulder. “You can crawl if you want to," he tells her. 

Mallory thinks about it for all of two seconds before giving in to the heaviness of her body. She crawls over to Duncan’s area on the mats because she wants to. It had been a long flight from New Orleans to visit Coco in D.C. She owes it to herself and her students back in Louisiana to unclench a little and embrace her subspace.

She doesn’t have to crawl far, the area Duncan's picked out is only a few feet from her own spot on the mats. He’s chosen a space under a suspension hoop.

Duncan sits down near the equipment he’d left behind and starts pulling bundles of crimson rope out of his open bag. Mallory feels his eyes on her as she makes her way over to him.

It pleases Duncan when Mallory automatically sits on her knees. “Good girl," he praises. Even with him sitting, her head still isn’t level with his. Duncan would be lying if he said that he wasn’t enjoying the size difference. The cut of Mallory's sports bra and shorts show off her petite figure. He’s sure that If he put his hands around her waist his fingers would overlap. 

Mallory lets out a sleepy yawn as she settles in to wait for his instructions. “So what do you like, kitten?" he asks her. "Do you mind if I get a little rough?”

A little shiver runs through Mallory at the question. “Yes, rough is okay,” she tells him. Seeing the flex of Duncan’s forearms as he tends to the rope leaves no doubt in her mind that he’s capable of delivering. "Hair pulling and bruises are okay, just not on the neck. I’ve got classes to teach on Monday.” Duncan nods, acknowledging her limits, and continues sorting out his bundles of rope.

Before Mallory can worry about his preferred starting position, he’s yanking her arms behind her back and slipping the ears of a bow tie knot up her limbs to settle against her shoulders. Duncan jerks roughly on the ends of the rope to tighten the slip knot against her spine, pinching her shoulder blades together. “Good?” he rumbles to her left.

“Fuck, yes,” Mallory sighs, relaxing into the rope. She feels Duncan's nose brush against the skin behind her left ear and then he’s gone again behind her. The tease is maddening.

Satisfied with the tension on the first knot, Duncan wraps the hanging ends around his fist and ties a double slip knot an inch below the last. He pulls the ropes in the center of the knot to make two new ears and slides the loops up Mallory’s arms, securing them over the skin of her triceps this time.

Over and over, he repeats the knot and loop pattern until he reaches the skin of her wrists. Duncan wraps the rope around her joints a few times and knots it off before sitting back to appraise the complete dragonfly sleeves. He runs a finger over the rope where it’s indenting the skin of her right forearm and checks her circulation. “Too tight? Red if you want to stop.”

Mallory flexes the muscles in her arms for a moment. The bite of the rope is just enough to have a pleasant buzz starting in the back of her head. She’s not feeling any pins and needles. “I’m good, green," she responds. Colour coding is a fairly universal system of negotiation. Duncan’s willingness to start check-ins this early sets a good precedent. Comforted, Mallory makes an effort to relax further into her bindings.

Eager to move into suspension, Duncan works quickly to weave the rope back up through the knots he’s made until he’s at about elbow level. Pushing into a standing position, he feeds the rope through the suspension hoop over their heads and tugs until Mallory’s body starts to rise. He pulls and pulls until only the tops of her feet touch the mats.

Mallory inhales sharply at the pressure on her joints. A bit of tension she wasn’t aware that she was carrying lets go in her chest. She feels Duncan brush a knuckle against the skin of her lower back and almost purrs like the kitten he thinks she is. Mallory can’t see his face, but she can hear his breaths coming quick behind her.

Duncan’s mesmerized by the contrast of the red rope with her porcelain skin. Mallory’s taking the restriction so well. When she’s not answering his questions, she’s completely silent. The lack of vocalization is helping him find his own Zen. He’s usually wishing for a ball gag by now. Curious how far he can push her, Duncan lets her sit for a long moment. He takes pity on her when she starts wiggling her fingers in frustration and runs a hand up the inside of her thigh.

Mallory's breath hitches when Duncan goes for the skin of her thigh. He keeps his touch feather light before scratching his short nails against her skin. When she squirms, he pinches her skin between his fingers and pulls it away from the meat of her quadricep. The sensation is electric. Mallory bites back a moan, drunk on the pain.

Impressed by her control, Duncan releases his hold and reaches for another length of rope. The thought of her completely ensnared in his knots has his cock twitching in his pants.

He grabs the delicate bones of her right foot and yanks her leg backwards so he can start coiling the rope around her ankle. Finishing the single-column tie, Duncan stands to loop the rope through the suspension point. From there, he runs the rope back down to Mallory's ankle and uses the bight as a pulley to hoist her foot into the air. He secures the extended position of her leg with a knot half way up the line to the hoop. The shift of her weight has Mallory’s chest dropping forward until she’s perpendicular to the floor. She twists slowly side to side on the top of her left foot.

Duncan lets her breathe for a moment and flexes his hands, delighting in the slight ache in his palms and knuckles. “What’s your colour, Mallory?”

It takes Mallory a moment to respond. She’s adrift in a haze of sensation. Gravity fights with the support of her bonds and increases the compression of her fragile bones and tissue. When she finds her voice, it’s little more than a whisper. “Green," she answers him. 

With her murmured assent, Duncan grabs a third length of rope. Diving down to Mallory's left ankle, he makes another single column tie and runs the rope up to the hoop before coming back to attach to the bight. Holding the ends of the rope like a leash, he walks her in a 360° circle, contemplating his next move.

Inspiration strikes suddenly and Duncan comes to an abrupt stop, looping the rope through the hoop again. He pulls on the ends with sharp jerks until Mallory’s left leg is straight up and down in the air. He ties a sturdy knot above her foot and spirals the leftover rope down her calf and thigh. His last knot connects the spiral to the rope at her wrists.

Mallory’s head is a heavy weight at the end of her neck. Looking straight down at the floor is a bit unnerving, but she's too relaxed to care. The headrush her position causes has her sinking into subspace with a burst of endorphins. The rise and fall of her chest slows to a deep, almost sleep-like regularity.

Duncan gives her a spin, and she goes completely under.

The red ropes are macabre yet breathtakingly beautiful, standing out like bloody gashes on Mallory's skin. Duncan can tell from the loll of her head that she’s completely surrendered herself to the experience. Arousal hums through him. If he could, he’d keep her in his ropes for the rest of the night.

After five minutes of inversion, Duncan stops Mallory’s rotation by tangling a hand in her hair.

His sharp tug on her roots brings Mallory back to awareness. She blinks her eyes open and sees that Duncan has dropped to a crouch in front of her. Focusing on the bright blue of his eyes helps her cut through the fog around her brain. “It’s time to come back, kitten,” he murmurs.

Duncan is methodical as he undoes his work. He lowers Mallory to the ground in stages and hauls her into his lap to remove the ropes on her arms. Mallory rests in his embrace and enjoys the feeling of his warm hands rubbing over her abused muscles and the rope marks he’d left on her skin. She thinks about the bruises she’ll likely have tomorrow and feels a rush of wetness at her core. It’ll be hard to resist getting off in Coco’s shower with her fingers pressed against the discolorations.

Out of his ropes, Mallory’s as pliant as ever. Duncan gives in to the urge to pet her hair and hears a low groan of enjoyment come from her chest. “Do you need anything before we leave?” he asks, reluctant to separate.

Mallory opens her eyes and tilts her head to meet his own past his chin. Her voice is crushed velvet. “No, Coco has my snacks.” Duncan frowns, but tilts his head in acknowledgement.

The mention of Coco’s name has Mallory looking for her familiar blonde head. She finds her across the room, watching them with barely contained glee and fanning herself vigorously. When Coco realizes that Mallory’s looking at her, she mouths an exaggerated OMG. Mallory fights a blush.

Duncan helps her to her feet and she wobbles a bit, latching onto his arm for support. “Are you going to be okay?” he asks.

“I’ll be fine, it’s just been a while," Mallory huffs with a laugh. Duncan’s charmed by her lack of guile. Impulsively, he brings her hand to his mouth and lays a kiss over her knuckles. “If you’d like, I could help you come down.”

Mallory’s expression smooths into something unreadable and Duncan realizes he’s anxious, strangely invested in her answer.

Mallory takes a moment to remember how effortlessly he’d guided her into her descent and feels her body tense with want. The decision is obvious. “Alright," she replies, voice teasing, "but you’ll have to tell me your last name. Coco needs to know who to look for if I go missing.”

Duncan smirks. His eyes twinkle as he says, “Shepherd. Duncan, Shepherd.”


End file.
